


Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered

by Petra



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: F/M, Public Sex, Rubbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-28
Updated: 2010-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim moves close enough to put his hand on Alex's thigh, warm and strong under her nylons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered

**Author's Note:**

> For Kink Bingo rubbing/grinding, with bonus public sex. Originally posted at the [Ashes to Ashes Kink Meme](http://fantasy-bubbles.livejournal.com/74747.html).

  
Alex is drunk, but that's not news. She is holding down a table by herself in Luigi's; that is, or it might be, depending on how lately she's fought with Gene. More than not, lately, and that's all to the good.

She gives Jim a hazy smile when he comes over. "DCI Keats," she says, slurs, making his title a mile wide.

"DI Drake," he answers. He's only there to find her, as he has the last few nights, and he'd rather call her Alex all night long, but at least she's not brushing him aside, thinking of him as a lesser order of being. "How are you this fine--" he checks his watch, smiles at her "--Thursday morning?"

"Here," she says. "Pissed. Could go upstairs."

"No need," Jim says, and sits beside her.

There are a few people left, lingering over their dessert, their coffee, a bottle of wine. Luigi would get more sleep if he left the old country's ways behind him.

None of them are coppers; none of them look up when Jim moves close enough to put his hand on Alex's thigh, warm and strong under her nylons. She is not shy about her fantasies, whether they're the filthy kind or the kind where Hunt is a hero. Jim can only make one of those true for her.

She takes a quick breath and edges over in her chair, spreading her legs. "What brings you here of a--a Thursday morning?" she asks, as if she doesn't know.

"I had a few questions for you."

The music switches from something operatic--Jim has never had cause to learn Italian--to Frank Sinatra claiming to be bewitched.

Alex puts one hand under the table--politely on her lap, if she were eating, but it's on his wrist, tugging his hand up to her knickers, to the nothing between maids' legs, and not polite at all. "About Gene?" she asks, and picks up her wine with her left hand.

"About you," he says in her ear.

Anyone could look over, if they thought of it, and see Alex like this, rocking under his hand as little as she can manage and still tease herself. They're as separated from the rest of the restaurant as they would be behind a glass wall.

Someday, when the charades are over, he'll have her there, in Hunt's office, to prove to everyone that he can.

He'll tell her that later when he can make her whimper without worrying Luigi's clientele.

For now, he reminds her to choke back her moan with a finger over his lips. Mirroring the fingers on her lips. "Shh, Alex. Shhh."

When she comes, it's with a tremble that makes her chair creak and her teeth digging into her lower lip, hard and desperate for silence. "Jesus," she says.

He does not wince.

"Thank you," she says.

Jim smiles. "Shall we take this upstairs?"

Alex nods and stands, a little shaky. He rubs his nose and pushes up his glasses while she finds her balance so that he can smell her on his hand, musky-sweet and aching for him.


End file.
